


falling leaves drift by the window

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Scott McCall, Pining, fall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been 746 days since he had seen Stiles anywhere but a laptop screen. It had been 746 days since he’d felt like himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling leaves drift by the window

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Originally based on [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=7xEX-48RHCY). I have no idea how I ended up with this. Title from the song ‘Autumn Leaves’.

The first thing he really became aware of was the fact the air was sharp and biting. Scott blinked toward the light cascading in through the window, watching dust motes float within sunbeams. His cheeks, nose and forehead were chilled, the rest of him was pleasantly warm. He buried himself deeper under his comforter and wondered if he could command the world away. 

But it was Monday. He had work. And he’d spent too much of his life protecting the world to wish it any real harm.

He showered, dressed, ate a cursory breakfast. He followed his usual routine. Checked his phone, his email. Didn’t sigh when there was nothing new. He triple checked that he had everything he needed. He didn’t, but he was close.

Outside, the wind was strong. He watched a leaf flutter to the ground, then skitter up again as if captured by an evil spirit. The surrounding trees were all burnished golds, sunstruck yellows and vibrant reds, though in his yard there was an oak that had leaves that turned brown and dropped gracelessly like little corpses. 

There was a pile of leaves he’d been meaning to clear up and hadn’t gotten around to yet. He wondered if he could enlist some help.

He wasn’t a lone wolf, not really, hadn’t made his peace with Derek by becoming him, but getting a house closer to the preserve, to the nemeton, had seemed appropriate when he’d had to contend with daily territory border checks and creatures that go bump in the night. It wasn’t so remote. It was remote enough. And really, when his mom had pointed it out, because of course she had, he was to be commended for not saying that it wouldn’t matter if he was in the center of a thriving metropolis, without Stiles he’d always be lonely. 

It had been 746 days since he had seen Stiles anywhere but a laptop screen. It had been 746 days since he’d felt like himself.

*

His first patient for the morning was a hulking mastiff/Rhodesian ridgeback cross named Ruby, with a brindle coat and a bark that would make a good bass line for his work out music. She was a sweetheart, really, especially when he took away some of her pain. She licked at his hand and peered up at him with mock-guilty eyes when he asked what she’d been doing to herself. It was a question he actually knew the answer to. She’d been chewing her rump because of a skin infection and it was easy enough to treat, but there was the possibility of the infection reoccurring. He spoke to Ruby’s owners and outlined his care plan. This was often the hardest part of his job, but he dealt with it easier now, after three years of practice. Alan was treating a kitten with a wounded paw and they all had to be careful that Ruby left the clinic without causing chaos. It was tenuous for ten whole minutes, but thankfully they managed it without much trouble. 

It was another routine. A welcome one. He took satisfaction in helping others, in using skills and senses honed through years of experience. It was never too challenging, or too easy, or too hard to talk about. He always had anecdotes to share with his mom, Allison and Isaac, Stiles. 

Scott stared at his cell again. Nothing. Usually he received a text or an email from Stiles every day. Every two weeks or so they Skyped. He’d sent three texts and two emails in the past week to no response. Stiles worked freelance as a journalist, so he usually wasn’t away from a device for more than two days.

He didn’t know whether it was better or worse that he could pinpoint the exact moment when it all went wrong. He sometimes thought about how unfair it was that time travel wasn’t a thing. When everything else seemed to be a thing; when, hell, _he_ was a thing, it must have been some kind of cosmic joke that there was no going backwards in time. But honestly he wasn’t sure he’d change everything even if he could. Because then he’d never know --- what Stiles looked like as he was taking him apart, what he sounded like with Scott within him, what he smelled like wrapped up in their combined scent. He clung onto those memories when he didn’t have much else to hold onto. And he didn’t know if he’d ever find the words to make Stiles stay. 

Scott pushed it all out of his mind for his next nine patients. He concentrated on work, like he always did when his thoughts wanted to run away with him. There was always the danger he’d get fixated, so it was good having the distraction. When the final patient was gone he cleaned down bench tops, emptied out cages and performed all those menial tasks he used to do when he was in High School. Work wasn’t his anchor, but it grounded him all the same. Mundanity was precious to him now.

“You remembered to call Mrs Johnson to negotiate a new appointment time, didn’t you?” Alan asked, holding his satchel, his thick gray coat buttoned to the top. He stepped forward at Scott’s answering nod, free hand outstretched. “Are you all right?”

“I’m… the same as I was yesterday and the day before,” Scott said, giving Alan half a smile. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to talk about it either and he’d learned that Alan respected the cryptic and the vague.

Alan wavered, hand hovering and eyes staring as if he could peer into Scott’s soul. A second later, he relented. “Okay. Well, tell me if you need anything.”

Scott nodded once more and set about reviewing the notes for the next day’s patients. 

*

Lydia's car was in his driveway when he rode in. She'd made it a point to visit regularly since coming back to Beacon Hills, which seemed as much a surprise to her as it was to him. He’d planned on spending the night avoiding active thought by making his way steadily through his Netflix queue, but he’d have to remind himself he could do that any other night. Every other night. 

He stomped through his yard, listening to the crinkle and crackle of leaves underfoot. The moon was making a swift ascent into the darkening sky and he stopped and watched it for a while, delaying the inevitable. 

Lydia was sitting at his breakfast bar taking a sip of coffee when he finally walked in. As he hung up his jacket he could smell that she’d gotten into his secret stash. So, she was planning on staying for _a while_. 

“Alan said you’re in need of your emissary.”

Scott manfully resisted rolling his eyes. “Alan was wrong.”

“A friend?”

He sat heavily on the nearest stool, wrapped his ankle around the legs. He leaned his weight on the counter and shrugged, shoulders near his ears for a second, more. “Yeah.”

“Is it Allison, or Stiles?”

Scott felt his scowl cross before he could stop it. It didn’t sit right in the dips and hollows of his face. 

“No,” Lydia snapped, diamond-sharp. “You don’t get to protest that I’ve jumped to this conclusion. It was a logical step, based on known patterns of behavior. If there was a territorial threat you’d be focused and angry, seeking help. If it was financial you’d be plastering on a smile and hoping no one can tell you’ve eaten refried beans every night this week. I’ve already spoken to Melissa and she’s okay. Ergo, Allison or Stiles.”

Lydia with even the tiniest bit of knowledge was always the most terrifying force in Scott’s life. And he really took umbrage at Lydia’s thought that he could be so swiftly and easily distilled.

“Stiles,” Scott bit out, giving up before putting up the fight. It was always Stiles, these days. 

“Are you missing him?”

Scott stared at Lydia, wide-eyed. How could she sound so innocent asking something so stupid? That wasn’t her style at all. Not since Junior year at High School.

“Yes, I’m missing him. Every hour of every day. He’s my best friend. Of course I’m---” Scott waved his hand around, almost in imitation of Stiles “--- why would you ask such an obvious question?”

Lydia twirled her finger in Scott’s direction. “To see your response.”

Yeah. He fell for that one. “You didn’t need it. You must know.”

“Yes, of course I know, but it was interesting nonetheless. I thought you Skyped?”

“We do, usually. He hasn’t been on.” Scott debated whether he should mention all of Stiles’ absences, then figured Lydia would find out anyway. “Hasn’t texted either. Or called. Or emailed.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lydia gave him a look. He wasn’t sure what it signified, but he could tell it was significant. “Maybe that’s the problem?”

“How do you mean?”

“He might be trying to get your attention.”

Scott thought about it, had already thought about it, but he dismissed it. “I don’t think so?”

Lydia was already starting to look bored. She took another sip of coffee, deliberated over it before speaking again. “What _do_ you think?”

“I think I need to wait. To keep waiting.”

“Here’s a novel concept --- you could go to him rather than waiting for him to come back to you?”

“No, I couldn’t do that, because he wanted space and the least I could do is offer it.”

Lydia poured out another cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “The most you could do is ignore it. It’s Stiles. He probably wanted you to fight for him.”

The only person who actually knew what had happened between them other than themselves was Derek, and that had been accidental, but everyone else in their pack had theories and Scott suspected Lydia’s was the closest of them all. He wasn’t confirming a thing.

“I know him better than you. Don’t you think I tried? Don’t you think I would have done everything in my power to make him stay, to ask him back? It’s not that simple. He wanted out, Lydia,” Scott said, cradling his cup to his chest. He looked down into its murky depths. “He deserved out.”

“If this was all werewolf-related, maybe I’d believe you,” Lydia replied, no sympathy evident in her tone, her glare, or the tap of her manicured nails against the countertop. She’d tried to escape. She hadn’t quite stuck the landing, but for a while there she’d been getting 9.7 out of 10 when it came to avoiding Beacon Hills.

Lydia was right, Stiles hadn’t left because of werewolves. Or banshees. Witches. Soul-sucking demons or trolls. It was more complicated than that. His dad had gotten a job as a consultant in Rhode Island, which Scott could blame his own father for ‘facilitating’, but Stiles hadn’t been going to go with him, until… until it all went to hell and Scott and Stiles couldn’t stand to be in the same room as one another.

“Do you know what he said to me before he left? He said, ‘It is not enough that we do our best; sometimes we must do what is required.’ He quoted Winston Churchill at me without so much as a blink. Those aren’t the words of someone playing a game, or acting whimsically.”

“All right, okay, I’m going to bow down to your superior knowledge here,” Lydia said, managing to convey that she felt the complete opposite of her words without even sounding mean about it, like it was empirical fact that Scott had no clue, none at all. It wasn’t a new expression.

“Have you heard from him? Has he said something? Is that why you’re…”

Lydia cut him off before he could finish his thought, already pulling out her cell. “Actually, I hadn’t thought to check. I’ll do that now.” 

Scott let out a sigh and went in search of easy to prepare food. He settled on grilled cheese. It was no fuss, it was filling, it was delicious, and he really didn’t care that he’d had it every night this week so far. As he was readying the grill and slicing the cheese, Lydia came and hooked a hand over his shoulder.

“I haven’t had anything from Stiles for a week and a half, which is weird and I really should have noticed that.” 

“That can’t be good. I’m gonna call John.”

Scott propped himself against the counter and dialed John’s number. He waited, muscles tensed, senses on high alert, but he went straight to voicemail. He left a short message saying hi, leaving his number even though he knew both John and Stiles had it in triplicate, and worked really hard on not sounding completely panicked. He might not have succeeded at that final part. 

“There’s a perfectly rational explanation for this,” Lydia said in a faux-calming voice. Her eyes were wide and reflective, and they couldn’t conceal her concern. 

“Yeah. It’s probably nothing. I’ll call again later,” Scott said, tamping down his worry. 

He asked Lydia if she wanted to stay for dinner, but she turned her nose up, said she had somewhere to be. She hurried out of his house like she was a white rabbit, late for a very important date, no time to say ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’. He watched her from his stoop, bemused. He had no doubt she was going to do something to find out if Stiles and John were all right, but Lydia had a habit of shielding him from some of her druidic rituals, just as she rarely talked about the powers that came from being a banshee.

He tried to spend the evening the way he’d originally intended, but he couldn’t focus. He felt a buzzing along his spine, his hackles constantly seemed raised --- and he wasn’t even sure he had hackles, but the tense itch was painful. 

Scott was haunted by memories of times Stiles had tried to contact him and he’d flaked. He’d had valid reasons, but he’d still failed Stiles. He didn’t want to do that again. He _couldn’t_ do that again.

*

When he’d finally gotten to sleep he’d dreamed of Stiles lying pliant below him, pink flush spreading in the hollows of his cheeks, wet lips smacking together. He dreamed of Stiles’ strong thighs wrapping around his own, the heat and temptation of their bodies aligned. He dreamed of Stiles hot and thick inside him, thrusting with an offbeat rhythm that never failed to get him worked up. He saw flashes of the arch of Stiles’ neck, the sharp crescent moons left by his fingernails, the focus-free haze in his eyes when he came. Remembering how Stiles’ hips stuttered, how he moaned and panted against him had Scott waking up hard. He buried his face in his pillow and yelled into the memory foam. He wished he wanted to forget it all; an uneasy sensation that bubbled low in his gut. He always felt uncomfortable when having to deal with contradictions. Especially his own. 

He missed Stiles for his companionship, his wit, the way he had of understanding Scott when hardly anyone else really did. He missed his sarcasm and his ferocity and his heart. But he couldn’t deny he also missed the physical connection they’d shared. He’d tried to deny it. He’d wanted to be telling the truth when he told Stiles he would be okay with them going back to the way they’d been before. There was more than one truth, he knew that --- but being okay seeing Stiles every day without being able to touch him, going back to immediately healing the marks Stiles left on him, having to listen to Stiles flirt with other people --- appeared not to be one of them. The strain had almost ripped them apart, so Stiles had taken it upon himself to separate them with scissors rather than a tear. The wound was still bleeding.

Someone should have warned him. He should have listened to his own warning signs before they started. They’d been there --- the flutter in his stomach, the insistent tremor along his skin, the little voice asking if it was dangerous, but the attraction had been so strong and he’d told himself they were both adults, and being best buddies should mean that they could be the perfect fuck buddies. But no one had truly warned him, and he’d applied willful ignorance against his own instinct, and he drowned out the little voice that said ‘Don’t fall in love with your best friend. Not this way; all-encompassing and impossible to ignore. Because there’s every chance he won’t love you back and then you’re stuck with a friendship in tatters and an ailing heart.’

Scott checked all his messages, attempted to call Stiles and then John again, figured that the early hour might be a benefit rather than a hindrance to him. He even perused Vine, even though as far as he knew Stiles hadn’t used it since 2014, same as everyone else. At this point, he was a step away from stalking MySpace. Stiles was well and truly off the grid and it was terrifying. Scott always thought something like this would have happened sooner, if it were going to happen at all. 

“Would I be able to sense if Stiles was in danger?” Scott asked with no preamble. 

Derek sounded weary down the line. It was 5.45 am, so that was reasonable. “Possibly. Yeah, it’s likely,” Derek said, mid-yawn. “He hasn’t texted you either?”

“No. Wait. You guys text?” Scott squinted into the darkness, surprised he hadn’t known something so fundamental. 

“Against my better judgement and frequently my will, yeah.” Derek yawned again, then grunted and sounded way more with it. “Full moon tonight. You should do a full shift and extend your senses. Focus on your pack, zero in on their heart beats. My mom said she used to be able to gauge our emotional states when she was at full power. There was one time she found out about my cousin being bullied because she felt his distress. She always said she wasn’t proud of how she stalked the little assholes that used to taunt Joey and cornered them after school with a warning growl, but she’d get a glint in her eye that belied her words.”

Scott rubbed a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He didn’t go into a full shift very often. He never even thought he’d be able to, but he and Derek had worked on it together for a year, after Derek had come back to Beacon Hills having been granted his Alpha status back by a South American witch. They’d worked together a lot and whenever he thought about how they’d acted when they first met, he winced. Derek could be the most assholish of all the assholes, but Scott wished he’d realized he was more of a good person than a terrible one sooner. 

“Would you come and, like, supervise?” he asked hopefully.

“You don’t need me there.”

“Maybe not, but I’d like you there.”

There was a long pause. Scott heard Derek’s breathing and heart beat skip. “Okay,” Derek said. “I can come do the shift with you.”

“Thanks, Derek. I’ve gotta get ready for work, but, just… yeah, thanks.”

With a plan in place, Scott felt infinitely better, but he was still faced with hours of work before he could do anything. Even though he was usually the master of focusing on one thing at a time, there were enough lulls in the day that his mind kept wandering to what he’d do if Stiles was in danger, if Stiles had already been in danger and he was too late. But, no, he’d feel _that_ , wouldn’t he? If not through their pack connection, through the one forged by the nemeton? He’d _know_.

He didn’t know anything. 

He checked his messages religiously, he tended to his patients, and he replayed his last conversation with Stiles in his mind, still unable to think what he could have said wrong. He looked up at lunchtime to find Allison standing in the doorway watching him with a concerned frown etched across her face. 

“Hi,” Scott said warily. Maybe Allison knew something?

“Lydia spoke to me,” Allison said, waylaying his initial fright. She wouldn’t have led like that if she had insider knowledge. “Are you doing okay?”

“Not really,” Scott admitted. He couldn’t lie to Allison. “This is the longest Stiles and I haven’t spoken since we were nine. We’ve always been co-dependent. I never realized how it would feel when that was tested.” Demolished. Destroyed.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Allison said, clutching his wrist and rubbing her thumb against the inside. 

Scott’s throat seized up and he squeezed his eyes tight, sucked in a breath. He heard Isaac come into the office, a low whimper escaping his throat. There was a shuffling sound, like he wanted to move forward but was preventing himself. Scott looked up again, gave Isaac a nod. Isaac had stepped forward and taken his other wrist before he could speak.

“Derek says there’s a way I can sense if Stiles is in trouble if I shift tonight, and I know Lydia can track him down. If he’s not all right, you’ll help me protect him, won’t you?”

He couldn’t say, _’and what if he’s fine and he’s finally decided he never wants to talk to me again?’_

“You don’t have to ask,” Isaac said. 

Scott let out the breath he’d been holding, tapped Isaac in the chest. “What were you doing outside?”

“I didn’t wanna swamp you,” Isaac said cagily. Scott raised an eyebrow.

“He’s still sensitive to his Alphas’ moods,” Allison said with a hint of mockery in her tone. “You should have seen him last week when Derek laughed. Isaac couldn’t stop smiling for hours.”

Isaac ignored the light teasing and tugged on Scott’s arm. “Come eat with us. We’ll distract you.”

Scott signaled to Alan that he was going out for his break and followed Allison and Isaac to the local coffee shop. They did an admirable impression of attempting to keep him occupied. Things weren’t usually tense between them anymore, after it became obvious Allison had fallen in love with Isaac, that Isaac loved her, that it was serious and not infatuation. That was one of the reasons he’d had hope with Stiles --- well, it wouldn’t be a good idea to dwell on it. He listened to Allison talk about being thankful for her two days off; she loved police work, but it was draining. Isaac never liked to talk about work, so he discussed the renovation they were doing on their house instead.

Scott went back to work feel less burdened. He didn’t feel better, but he didn’t feel as alone. It was easier to concentrate on what was necessary. His mom had always told him that the best thing to do when faced with difficulty was devote his time and attention to the things he could change. So he went through his comforting, boring routine and didn’t count down the seconds until closing time. 

*

The wind had picked up as he rode home, casting leaves into the air. There was a tingle in the atmosphere like there always was before the full moon, like static electricity waiting to be unleashed. It keyed him up. 

Derek was already outside his house, alongside Cora. 

“I told her she wasn’t invited, but she ignored me,” Derek said at Scott’s questioning look. 

“Hey, no, I don’t mind,” he replied, because he didn’t, he just wasn’t sure why Cora cared. She usually turned disaffection into an art form. 

“I was hoping we could do a whole ‘by our powers combined’ thing,” Cora said with a smirk.

Scott didn’t know how to respond to that. He stared. Derek looked commiserating, which was weird and unnatural.

“We should eat before we get started,” Derek said, walking to the house.

Inside were Alan, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, and his mom, apparently preparing a feast. Some of his favorite dishes were there and he glanced over them with curiosity.

“O… kay,” Scott murmured. “We’re doing this as a pack.”

“They made demands,” Derek said in a low voice. 

Scott knew only too well how difficult it was to argue when various members of the pack did that. They’d all learned their lesson when it came to allowing only one of them to make a decision, and while he and Derek were better decision-makers now than they used to be, ‘do what I say because I’m the Alpha’ never worked. It hadn’t worked against Peter the first time, it hadn’t worked against Gerard or the kanima, it hadn’t worked against Deucalion or his pack, and it hadn’t worked against Peter the second time. It only led to casualties. 

They ate. He remembered how exhausting full shift was so Scott had what felt like double his body mass. He listened to the subdued chatter around the table and enjoyed the tastes of sweet potato and butternut squash. He was onto his second helping of Oreo flavored pudding when Derek started talking him through what he’d have to do. None of it was new, but it could be tricky. It was all about finding his center and narrowing down until he was consumed by his senses. When he’d thought of shifting as surrender he hadn’t been able to accomplish basically anything at all, but now that he accepted that the shift was part of him it only required concentration. 

“We’ll run with you,” Derek said, nodding toward Cora and Isaac. 

“Scott, come over here,” Lydia ordered. 

He didn’t even think about refusing. He shuffled over, feeling just the other side of pleasantly full. 

“Alan and I have been working on a spell for you to track Stiles. It’ll work in concert with your shift. As well as being able to sense how he’s feeling, you’ll be able to sense approximately where he is. For a couple of moments you’ll see things from his perspective.”

“That sounds like powerful magic.”

“It is, but it’s safe. It used to be practiced all the time a couple of hundred years ago.”

Scott folded his arm across his chest. He’d developed a healthy amount of skepticism over the years. “Then what’s the catch? Why did it stop?”

Alan cut in, giving Scott a small, benign smile. “Packs used to travel great distances together in search of resources and a territory to settle down in. It was easy for members to get separated on these journeys. But the rise of communication technology made reuniting simple. Why go through a complex magic ritual that would exhaust your emissary when you could ask your pack members to send a telegram notifying the pack of their whereabouts?”

“Can this harm you, Lydia?”

“It’ll make me sleep a full eight hours instead of my usual four,” Lydia replied blithely. 

The sun had set and the moon was rising into the night sky by the time he and Derek stripped off. It never stopped being awkward, especially with Cora deliberately leering at him. A leer like that coming from a wolfed out face was nightmare material regardless of the far scarier things he’d seen and done. 

Full shift could sometimes be painful. He had to get his breathing completely right. He had to draw on all his inner strength. Derek stood beside him and he honed in on his heart beat, his breathing, his presence. It helped in giving him a focal point. It stopped him from getting distracted by the colors of the forest or the whistle of the wind through the trees. 

Scott stretched and felt his limbs rearranging, his fur pushing through his skin. He fell to hands and feet and felt himself grow and shrink at the same time. Beyond the basics it was an indescribable sensation. It felt like light and warmth and power and freedom and countless other contradictory elements. 

He set off in a run straight away, yelling at Derek and the others to catch up. Past experience proved to him that he had seemingly boundless energy to spend before he’d be able to concentrate on anything important. He wanted the taste of the air on his tongue, the crunch of leaves underfoot. He wanted to smell the freshness of the dirt and listen to other animals scurry about. 

This was _awesome_. He needed to do this more often. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to run uninhibited. He and Derek raced one another to the lake in the middle of the forest. He almost won but was tripped up in the last couple of yards by a tree branch. They scrapped near the water’s edge, Derek playfully nipping his ear and then lumbering off, pace deliberately slowed. Scott caught up to him and tumbled him back to the ground. 

He loved the feel of the earth around him, the unique fall scents of sweet decay and flaking bark. It was so much easier to ignore complicated human concerns when he was embodying a wolf. They didn’t disappear, but they were pushed to the background of his mind, squeezed into the parts of him that housed his self-doubt and his fear. For now, he was a wild thing. But rather than feel out of control, he was more in control than ever. 

They continued for a while. Scott couldn’t have said how long. The canopy of the leaves above shielded the sky, so he couldn’t judge the time by the stars, and he was annoyed to find neither Isaac nor Cora had brought their phones or worn watches. They simply sat watching and laughing until he ran off in a new direction. 

Eventually, he wearied. He started thinking more emotionally again, found himself once more going over the last conversation he’d had with Stiles. He’d thought they’d ended it amicably, but what if he was kidding himself?

“How come you never talk to me about your dates?” Stiles had asked, the sound of his chair swinging back and forth a distant rattle in the background. “You can, you know.”

“I’m sure I could, if I ever went on any. I think we both discovered that casual’s not for me. I’m always going to want something more. I’m not like you.”

He hadn’t been deliberately cruel. He’d definitely used a light, joking voice rather than a bitter one. Stiles had told him about several different dates with different people over the last few months, broaching the subject with all the delicacy he showed in nothing ever. Without being in the same room as him, or having to witness it personally, Scott had just about coped.

“Casual’s not your metier?” Stiles had asked, just as teasing.

“Yeah, you know me. I don’t do anything by halves, or quarters, or eighths. You look up the definition of ‘all in’ on Wikipedia and there’s my picture. But if I ever do date, I’ll tell you all about it, just to lay your mind to rest.”

He could understand it --- Stiles wanted him to move on. He’d never meant to hurt Scott. He’d always been honest. Hell, blunt. _‘If I told you I couldn’t keep doing this, what would your reaction be?’_ and Scott had tried to accept it. He’d done all he could not to get too invested. He’d failed, but his valiant effort had to be worth something. 

Stiles had made a soft grunting sound, at the time Scott had thought he’d hit his leg into the desk for the nineteenth time, and changed the subject to his latest investigation. 

Thinking about Stiles led to him moving sluggishly toward the nemeton. He was aware of Derek following, but he hung back. He never liked going near. Isaac and Cora weren’t so sensitive. They sat down on the edge of the clearing as Scott lay by one of the roots of the stump. 

He began to meditate, to isolate each of his senses until he’d extracted and defined every minor detail. He could still smell pumpkin emanating from his house. He could feel each of the seventeen leaves beneath his fur. His ears twitched as he delved deeper and listened for his pack’s heart beats. That steady almost overpowering thump was Derek, the one with the nervous hitch was Isaac, Cora sounded like a train, Allison like raindrops, Lydia like thunder, Alan’s he could never hear, his mom had the same kind of beat as his own, and Stiles was faint but getting louder the more he intensified his focus. Stiles was like a timpani. He drowned everyone else out.

Scott squeezed his eyes tight and buried his nose deeper into the earth. He gave into the thrum of power the shift afforded him. Stiles felt nervous, excited, bordering on happy. Scott’s stomach lurched with a sick combination of horrified and overjoyed. Stiles was safe! Which meant he was purposely ignoring Scott. There was a distant whine, and it was only because dirt got up his nose that he realized it was his. Before he could come out of his trance, though, he started to get visuals. He saw his driveway, his motorbike parked round the side, Derek’s 8-seater. He saw his wood paneling and his porch. His mom was leaning against his doorjamb, coffee mug in hand, drooping eyes suddenly going wide.

Of course. That was the catch. Lydia’s spell didn’t work.

Scott sprang up and trudged away from the nemeton, in the opposite direction of the others. So, clearly, he’d scared Stiles away. He’d had enough, once and for all. Lydia’s spell was telling him to go home because there was no hope, Stiles didn’t want to be found. 

He walked home, not ran. Derek, Isaac and Cora seemed to realize he needed his space, because they didn’t rush around and overtake him. Sunlight streamed through the leaves and he tilted his head up, let it shower him with hope. He’d survive. It’s what he did. He struggled on, he didn’t let his burdens weigh him down, he kept going. 

As he neared closer to his house, he shook himself out. He could still scent Stiles on the air and the illusion was frustrating. He made a mental note to tell Lydia that the side-effects to her spell sucked. He came out from the forest into his front yard and had a final stomp around before he’d have to shift back into human form. It was cathartic.

“Oh my God, that will never not be amazing,” Stiles’ voice said. 

Scott stopped, stock still. Stiles. In the flesh. _Stiles_. He wasn’t an illusion, he wasn’t his imagination, he was there. He was sitting on the front steps, one of Scott’s old hoodies wrapped around his shoulders, watching Scott with a look of wonder.

He looked _good_. Lanky still, broad shouldered, with a bit of extra muscle across his torso. His grin was infectious, eyes glinting in the dawn light. He looked like home. 

Scott’s animal side got the better of him. The energy he thought he’d lost in the night came back full force and he dashed for Stiles, nudging at his ankles, before hurtling off again, careening into the piles of leaves. They crunched and crinkled all around him and it was invigorating. Stiles’ laughter rang through his ears, sweet and warm and perfect. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He dove down into the pile again, ashamed of his assumptions. He should have known, he should have remembered, he always had Stiles. 

Scott rolled out of the leaves again, ran and shifted to human at the same time. He pounced forward, catching Stiles up in a tight embrace, rocking him to meet the decking. He might have been embarrassed, especially when the rest of his pack came out to watch, but Stiles stroked his hand up his back, buried his face into his neck and murmured how he’d missed Scott over and over. 

*

Scott had showered, dressed and said goodbye to his pack before the sun had fully risen into the sky. They hadn’t wanted to go at first, but both Lydia and Derek had insisted, so they’d reluctantly driven to the nearest diner for breakfast. John was going to regale them with his tales of the journey, which, from the brief Cliff Notes version Stiles had already given, sounded nothing short of horrific.

“We were supposed to be here three days ago,” Stiles said, handing over a mug of cocoa. His gaze slid over Scott before flicking back up to meet his eyes. “If I’d known the truck was gonna break down in the middle of nowhere, I’d never have kept this a surprise.”

“Yeah, dude, I totally thought you’d abandoned me forever,” Scott said, because making it a joke stopped it from hurting or humiliating so badly. He took a sip of cocoa and hummed.

“You know I never would, don’t you?” Stiles said, voice agonizingly soft. He stepped closer and wrapped Scott up in another hug, this one more intimate than the last. Scott placed his cocoa onto the counter and surrendered himself to it. “Not even when I thought I’d die from heartache because I couldn’t have you,” Stiles continued.

Scott stiffened. He pushed away from Stiles, scanned his expression. “You said you didn’t want me anymore,” he reminded him slowly. His heart was lodged in his throat and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get it back to where it was supposed to be.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same way I felt, so I made a clean break, before it went too far. Except, y’know, I wasn’t quick enough.”

“But you know that’s not true now.”

“Yeah. Until last week I --- I’d kind of been living under the assumption that you were angry with me for ruining our friendship?”

“Right, because the sex was all you and I had nothing to do with it.”

“Angry at us both, then.”

Scott shook his head, pressed his hands to the counter to prevent himself from clutching at Stiles and never letting him go. “No. I never regretted a thing. I wanted… I want so much more.”

Stiles nodded, rapid and exaggerated. “Yes, to all of that. Just, yes.”

Scott kissed him. He had no more words. Maybe that had always been the problem between them, but nothing he could say would do what he felt justice. He placed one hand over Stiles’ side, rested his thumb into the hollow of his hip. With the other he cradled the back of his head. He shuddered when Stiles licked into his mouth and moaned thickly. Stiles’ grip on him was tight and it was holding him together. 

Scott’s skin was still damp from his shower and when Stiles skimmed his hand up under his shirt, his fingertips slid so easily. He shuffled and pressed and it was so heated, Scott couldn’t stop another low moan from escaping. He took Stiles’ other hand and began leading him to the bedroom. Once they were there, Scott kicked close the door. He tangled Stiles up again and didn’t release him until he was panting.

Stiles stripped him down as he kissed him, pushed his shirt up, his zipper down. He was so damn efficient with it, almost robotic, not at all like he used to be before, until he scraped a fingernail over Scott’s nipple, skated his palm over his hip. Scott nipped at his lower lip, opened his mouth up more, leaned his shoulders against the wall and took everything he could get. 

Stiles pulled away and his eyes were wide, shocky. The coil of desire in the pit of Scott’s stomach sprang loose and years of pent up frustrations, hopes and dreams escaped with it. He grabbed hold of Stiles’ wrist, fingers proprietary as they pressed against tendons. He guided his hand to his cock at the same time he gave a half-aborted thrust.

“What do you want?” Stiles muttered, “And don’t say ‘you’, because I know, okay? I’ve gotten that now.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Scott said, “I want you to slide inside and fill me up. Is that specific enough for you?”

“Nope. I definitely need more detail. Do I have to do something first?” Stiles said, voice high and breathy. 

Scott smiled, kissed his cheek. “You need to open me with your fingers first, get me nice and slick. Play with my tight hole until it’s loose and needy for you.”

“Oh my fucking God, it’s been too long. Okay. All right. You need to not talk now or I’m gonna come before we can get to the fun part.”

Scott latched onto his earlobe, worried it between his teeth as he rutted against Stiles’ long fingers. “Oh, I don’t know, this feels pretty fun to me.”

Stiles laughed and it reverberated between them, they were so close. But Stiles was still wearing his shirts, which meant they weren’t close enough. Scott shoved at his plaid over-shirt, rolling it off his shoulders. Stiles wriggled obligingly. The t-shirt was more trouble, getting caught up under Stiles’ chin. When they finally extracted him his hair was even crazier than usual. 

It was those kinds of moments that made Scott love this, love them together. They walked over to the bed, Scott collapsing down onto his back and raising up on his elbows so he could watch Stiles strip out of his jeans and boxers. He’d been right about the extra muscle; nothing major, just the slightest increase in definition. He’d enjoy himself exploring that later with his tongue, nuzzling into Stiles’ happy trail. Stiles was already more than half-hard, his cock rising against his abdomen, glistening with precome. But it was his face that was truly enticing. The flush of his cheeks, the tenderness around his mouth, the whiskey-rich of his eyes as he looked at Scott as if he never wanted to look away again. 

Scott beckoned him with a nod, licking his lips. Stiles settled over him and they got into another rhythm of kissing and touching. Stiles tasted salty-sweet and all of Scott’s senses went straight to overload. They rubbed up against one another, bodies in sync, and actually Scott didn’t know how he’d ever survived without this. It felt as necessary as breathing.

Eventually, he rolled to the side, opened up the bottom drawer of his night stand. He handed over the lube with a jerky kind of desperation and settled onto his forearms. Stiles brushed his fingers over the backs of his legs and parted his thighs. Scott pushed his legs wider, wanting to be perfect.

“Is it okay if I?” Stiles asked with a kiss to his inner thigh. 

Scott took a moment to process the question before grunting a yes. Stiles placed another kiss against his spine before going lower, parting his cheeks and swiping his hot, wet tongue against Scott’s hole. They hadn’t done this before and for the life of him Scott couldn’t say why. Stiles was incredible, using the flat of his tongue to stroke over him repeatedly, before using the tip to coax him open. It was like fire and ice at the same time licking over his nerves, causing him to clench and then loosen again and again. It was maddening how Stiles’ tongue slid against him, pressing for entrance. He couldn’t help but push back into it, he was never close enough. His cock was hard against his bed sheets, dripping precome. His breath was tight in his chest, threatening to forsake him, and he gasped with a wet sob before he could stop himself. 

“I got you,” Stiles said, sounding equally as shaky. He lifted Scott’s hips up until he was on hands and knees, hands gentle against his sides. “Stay like that, so good and pliant for me.”

Stiles pushed a slick finger in, past the first knuckle, moving in a sure, determined way, starting the stretch. He applied more lube and finger-fucked him for a while, gradually stretching him further until Scott was canting his hips against the bed and trying to spur him into increased action. He was clammy, he kept slipping, and he looked over his shoulder to glare at Stiles, but didn’t as soon as he saw how fixated he was. Stiles swallowed deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He gazed at Scott as if he were a revelation. Scott turned away once more, a hot flush of elation buzzing through him.

Stiles’ free hand rubbed against his back and before Scott knew, he was moving and parting his fingers to allow his cock to sink into him, thick and hard and unrelenting. He eased in, made space, and that --- that exhale sounded a lot like a groan. This was just one of the things he’d missed, but God, he’d missed it. He hadn’t really realized how much until he had it back. 

The thrusts were erratic from the start, but that was more than okay, because Stiles reached a hand around and stripped his cock so that he came, hard, in ten seconds flat. Scott trembled, heart racing so hard it felt like it was battering against his rib cage. Stiles fucked him through it, making low whimpering sounds that had Scott wishing he could go again. He clenched at the thought and Stiles stopped grinding into him, pressing his forehead into Scott’s back and mouthing him, breath warm and damp.

A minute, maybe more, Stiles pulled out and Scott felt come trickle out of his hole. He stretched onto his back and watched Stiles hesitate. He looked like he was deciding between lying on the bed and heading to the bathroom.

“Stay,” Scott mumbled. 

“I will, I promise. I’m not leaving again,” Stiles returned. 

He climbed onto the bed, rested against his shoulder and smiled, smug and affectionate all at once. Scott kissed his forehead and smiled back.


End file.
